Black and Blue Sweetheart
by ficlit78
Summary: Post Blood Money. Rigsby and Grace say one thing while the laws of heartbroken lovers say another. And they're dating new people. Both POVs. Rated M, because real life is punctuated with swearing and sex.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: I know, I know. More angst. Hey, I can't help it! After watching _Blood Money_, I'm still in a funk. Rigsby dating some chick named Tiffany, who calls his work and asks Cho to tell him he's a bad boy? He and Grace telling each other they've 'moved on'?

Dude, pants on fire.

I own nothing.

* * *

**Black and Blue Sweetheart**

I was the only one.

That's what he said, right? I didn't mishear him the hundreds of times he gasped and whispered and laughed and stated and flat-out roared those words, did I? I was the only one.

Like when he told me I was the perfect height. He didn't have to bend down to reach me. Or when he breathed quietly that my skin was too soft to be real. He'd pet me for hours, just like he would a kitten. And I'd purr for him. His touch was the electrifying opposite of soft.

Or?

Or when he'd rest his chin on my stomach after he'd made me come with his tongue, smiling happily at me. That's mine. All of it. His tongue. That smile. Just like that small dip in the cradle of my hips is just for him. His chin belongs right there. Nowhere else on earth.

His voice. His voice is different when he talks to me now. The gruffness is gone. The low pitch is still there, but the gravel has been paved over. It's now always smooth, professional. I hate it. I want that gravel back. It always meant I was in for a ride that required four-wheel drive. Now it's gone. Rerouted. To some bitch named Tiffany. 'Baby' and 'fuck' and 'love you' are now gravel _she'll _get to ride through.

Or is it Tiphanie? With a 'ph'?

Our joke, our silly ex-girlfriend's stupid name joke, isn't funny anymore. I bet Tiphanie isn't funny either. I bet she doesn't make him laugh. It _should_ be physically impossible. His laugh belongs to me, too. I caught it in a butterfly net. It's mine.

Just like the notch at the base of his throat. No one's allowed to touch it but me. I teased him about it once. Lying in his arms, I once swirled my tongue in that perfect hollow and told him that it was my favorite part of him. It was so inexplicably erotic, a chink of vulnerability in the armor of his body. He chuckled underneath me. "It's yours, then. It's only fitting that my biggest weakness own my littlest one."

So, see? It's mine. He gave it to me. Now some trespasser was running her fingers over it, not appreciating its delicate beauty, speeding over it on the way to his more impressive parts.

I seethe at the thought.

She's fawning at his obvious qualities and I hate her laziness. _Anyone_ can see he's beautiful. _Everyone_ knows that. But his preternatural beauty can't be seen. Not like that. It has to be read. Like Braille. Slowly. Tactilely. It takes time to learn all the ridges and bumps and tease his story from them.

So much time needed. I spent ages deciphering him and still barely got through the first few paragraphs. Each nick has a tale. He'd tell me shyly. I'd kiss it better. The thought of her lips over those same nicks, the ones I stamped with aching tenderness, she'll simply coo at and ask, "How'd you get _this _one, baby?" Wanting the excitement of near-death cop drama, not bothering to read the flickering pain in his eyes if the scar wasn't from the job. Rather from a parent.

I died a little each time I touched _those_. He flinched the first time my fingers found them, and after that he never flinched again. I was allowed to read them. He let me. Would he let her?

My teeth clench.

Oh, and I hear everyone around the office, too. Apparently she's been by to pick him up a few times. People have seen her. Pretty, petite, blonde.

Blonde, huh?

I snort with proud distain.

Do his fingers filter through your hair as he's watching tv, Tiphanie? Does he murmur that he's never seen a more beautiful color in his entire life? Does he check your whole body for freckles, chuckling that there has to be at least_ one_? Does he burrow his nose into it and demand to know why you always smell exactly like strawberries?

Does he treat you like a lady?

Does he fuck you like a whore?

Does he tell you that you own him, right down to the indigo flecks in his eyes?

Do you answer that he owns you too, right down to the last drop of AB Negative blood pumping through your heart?

Does he laugh when you say that and say that nothing, not even your blood, could possibly be negative inside you?

Do you melt at his sweetness in those soft moments? Do you thrill at his savage kindness in the harder ones?

Do you secretly want his children? And pray they will share the black and blue of his hair and eyes? Do you see them sometimes? Little black and blue sweethearts running through sprinklers and eating their weight in Cheerios?

You shouldn't, because they're mine. Even the promise of them is mine. Just like the father.

My black and blue sweetheart.

My fists curl in rage at the situation of my own making.

I hate the name Tiphanie.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: How I hope he's actually feeling. Rigsby's POV.

* * *

I met her at the gym. Where else would I meet her? I don't go anywhere else. I work, I work out, I sleep. That's the new routine. Nice and concise. Exactly how I need it right now.

I felt her watching me a few times. I half-smiled to myself and didn't acknowledge her. I added more weight and I lifted. The pain of too much felt good. I much prefer the pain of too much over too much pain. I can control it better. It distracts me. I do five reps, then add more weight.

The pain of too much increases. Excellent.

The too much pain flattens a little under the pressure. One of these days, I'll lift enough weight to crush it completely. It's a strong little bastard. Three hundred pounds and I've barely made a dent in it.

She finally walked over. I didn't have to do much. She asked me out. I looked down at her blonde, giggling insecurity and said yes. Why not?

She's nothing like _her_, and that's how I want it. I don't want any reminders. Nothing. No red hair. No large, watchful eyes. No inquisitive, yet respectful little fingers. Nothing.

Tiffany is a nice, normal girl.

She's about 5'5". Pretty average, I guess. When I kiss her goodnight, I lean down. I sigh into our kiss. She thinks it's because I'm happy. I let her think it. Mostly because it would be rude as hell to ask her to grow four more inches and make me feel less like an oversized brute.

But no.

Because 5'9" is _her_ height. So, no. I don't want that. Five five is just fine.

She got bold one night and cuddled in my lap while we watched _Lost_. She knows how small she is, how easily she can curl into a large man's body. I could tell by the tilt in her chin that she thinks it's cute.

I feel slightly like a pervert. She feels too small. Too childlike. I want a woman. An equal. Someone who sits in my lap, not because she wants to be cute, but because she wants _me_. The sweet, coltish length of _her_ could be called many things, but unwomanly isn't one of them. I sigh again. I do that a lot now.

I take her out a few times a week. She smiles a lot. They're easily earned. I can't tell if I really deserve them. I used to know exactly what the prize of a smile meant. They were far more rare and more worth the earning. And what made me feel like the luckiest SOB alive was that there were more of them for me than anyone else. Just me.

But no.

Mustn't think that way. Smiles are good. Lots of smiles are…sweet. I shouldn't have to earn them. She can smile all she wants.

She drinks the same beer I drink. Trying to look cute again, I suppose, impress me with her bad girls ways. I taste it on her lips. I feel angry at myself because I'm irritated with her. She doesn't sit in a bar with me and adorably order tea. She doesn't ignore the raised bartender brow and patiently wait for a cup and a little bag with a string.

When I kiss her, the inside of her mouth isn't hot from the scalding liquid. She doesn't taste like the earthy, herbal epitome of home. Instead she tastes of alcohol. She tastes like your typical date.

Which is fine. Just fine.

She works in marketing. I don't know what that means. She says what she really wants to do is event planning. I smile politely. There's nothing else to be done.

I haven't slept with her.

It's too soon. I just met her. I just lost _her_. Tiffany thinks I'm a gentleman. The truth is that I'm a bastard. I'm putting about as much of myself into this relationship as I would a trip to the mailbox. The way she touches me, I know she wants to, but all I can think about is how the pressure of her touch is too strong. And too fast. She doesn't watch her own fingers as they trace over my face. Almost like being…read.

_She_ loved my body, but _her _experience of it was so damn erotic. I was very closely studied. Every last inch of me. Large, watchful eyes saw everything. A sultry, alluring voice would whisper a respectful question. Unlike any relationship before, I answered honestly. The whole, nasty history of certain marks on my skin. Exactly like before, I never plan to answer honestly again.

What I shared, for so long just mine, is now ours.

_She_ kissed those marks. I ache knowing that for the rest of my life I can never let another woman contaminate those kisses with her own. I'll have to stop her. I don't know what I'll say, but I simply can't allow it.

I can't hold out forever. My first time with Tiffany, or whomever, must come eventually. I need to move on. I need to forget. This pain will be the death of me if I let it. I can't let it win. It'll destroy me if I do.

I'll just keep adding more weight.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: I think I'll just start alternating POVs. We'll see how that plays out. Here's Grace.

* * *

Men at the office appraise me more openly now. I guess Wayne's new girlfriend has convinced them that I'm officially available and he won't charge like a mad-eyed rhino if they show an interest. I guess because of Wayne's new girlfriend, I let them.

There are ways I used to discourage it. Narrowed eyes. Walking away. A change in my posture that oh-so-subtly said, "Keep moving, buddy." Now, if I lean over a desk and feel their eyes, I stayed leaned over. Now, if they stand a little too close, I don't move away. Now, if they catch my eye and smile, I smile back.

It's so forced that I'm sure I look every bit as plastic and insincere as I feel. But no. They don't see it. They see the lean and the smile. I guess that's good. It means I'm moving on, right? After all, some of them are nice guys. Good cops. Isn't that what Wayne is? Shouldn't it be easy to find another nice man and good cop in the damn CBI HQ? Of course it is. There are several that I can think of right off the top of my head.

How in love must I be when such a nice, rational idea makes me so sick that my stomach drops out? A nice man? Seriously? Did my brain really think my heart was that stupid? Does my brain assume that if it waves another nice man in front of my heart, my heart will just forget the million other qualities that made Wayne the most perfect man I've ever known? Things that could never be replicated in a single person except him?

My brain persists that it's possible.

My heart laughs bitterly and spouts off a list, just to prove her point.

He respects me to a fault. His touch is as reverential as it is demanding. He offers to drive everywhere. He hides cute notes around my house. He smells like cloves when he sweats. He wants to hold my hand all the time. He likes bad movies for good reasons. He is the ultimate strong, silent type. He reads. He concentrates on me so hard that he won't even hear his phone ringing. His hair is softer than it looks. His hands are rough from target practice and weight lifting. He loves me like I don't deserve.

There are millions of others, the main one being that I love him so much that I'm poisoned with it. My brain capitulates. Another man with his exact combination of quirks and perfections doesn't exist.

My heart feels no pleasure in its victory.

Cy Decker from the Organized Crime Unit asked me out. I said yes.

My heart officially went on strike and stopped beating.

Its terms are simple. And impossible.

People often assume I'm cold and unfeeling. Perhaps they're right. My negative blood floats in my veins, adrift without a heart to speed it along. I feel it chilling slowly, losing its interest, until it's as red and cold as gazpacho.

Cy picks me up at 7.


	4. Chapter 4

Rigsby

* * *

Dating Tiffany has become the worst mistake of my life. What the hell was I thinking? This situation is so horribly fucked and I went and made it worse by diving into a relationship that I wasn't anywhere near ready for. Being with her and pretending like everything is hunkey dorey is damn hard work, which is pointless because I know our relationship is going precisely nowhere.

Okay, so yeah. Maybe I did it to twist the knife a little. I was angry. Still am. I offered Grace the perfect solution for us to be together and she stabbed me right in the heart. I would have done anything for her, and after everything we shared, she shut me down.

You have no idea, the things I told that woman. The things she told me. The intensity of our conversations sometimes scared the shit out of me. In an exhilarating way. Things I said had never been uttered out loud before. And I could tell from the rusty, jagged sound of her confessions that she'd never said hers aloud, either. They had the pure, honest squeak of old door hinges as they left her mouth. Not polished stories, hers. They didn't glide. They scraped. They hurt her as they left. It was horribly wonderful that I was able to empathize. We would hold each other for ours, our lips healing themselves by pressing together, massaging each other after such a painful birth.

But she loved the job more, she said. I couldn't believe it. But my belief wasn't needed to end it. So, end it did.

I'll admit it. I took some small, pathetic pleasure when she found out about Tiffany. The CBI HQ—stately building and lofty pursuit of justice aside—is no better than a 1950s typing pool when it comes to gossip. Once word got out, it got _out_. A few people saw her pick me up. Rumors flew even faster.

Wayne Rigsby was already out of circulation after two weeks of single life. And he was with another hottie. The boy don't play.

I love Grace with all my heart and always will, but that didn't stop the tiny sliver of self-preservation in me as I glanced at Grace out of the corner of my eye when someone mentioned Tiffany within earshot. She was sitting at her desk typing. If I hadn't been facing her, I wouldn't have sensed a reaction. She didn't stiffen. Her typing continued. But her eyes. I saw it and instantly wanted to kill myself. Her brow lifted a fraction and her eyes tightened in the corner. I'd never seen that expression on her before, but like every human being, I recognized it.

A little girl almost bursting out into tears.

Oh, my sweet baby. So much pain. In both of us! Why wouldn't she let me fix it? Why won't she let me leave?

I take a deep breath and keep working. This was her choice. And the single brain cell that's on my side and not hers refuses to let me pine away for her. If she doesn't like me dating Tiffany, then she knows where to find me to tell me so, doesn't she? The snap of Grace's fingers and Tiff is out on her ass so fast she'll think a hurricane tossed her. Until then, she can damn well put up with hearing that I'm dating other people.

…Until Cy Decker asked her out.


	5. Chapter 5

Grace

* * *

Cy Decker's been a CBI agent for about seven years now. His gift with languages and knack for detecting made him a valuable poach for the Organized Crime people upstairs when picked him up from Quantico. He and I got to talking once while we waited for coffee across the street. I'd heard the story and asked why he'd leave the glamour of the feds for little old California.

He smiled humbly. I remember liking his smile.

He took a considered breath before saying something like, "After 9/11, the feds became a haunted breed."

I knew what he meant. Everyone did. It's weird to say, but crime somehow lost its innocence that day. All of us agents had grown up with the clean-cut examples of cops and robber movies. Good guys. Bad guys. And everyone had their particular set of rules. Regardless of your side, you fought the good fight. And the crime really didn't matter either. Theft, murder, kidnapping, rape. It was all part of the chessboard on which we all played.

Then a Holy War was declared.

Suddenly everyone lost their cues. The feds became as paranoid and obtuse as the people they were hunting. The ones who saw the writing on the wall got out while they could. Those who stayed were quickly engulfed in the federal equivalent of the Dark Ages.

Cy saw the writing on the wall. He was a learned man and the Dark Ages had no interest in learned men, nor did he in them. Smarts took a backseat to action. So the FBI took a backseat for Cy.

He hightailed it three thousand miles, coast to coast, until he hit the Pacific Ocean and was forced to stop. Once he stopped long enough to be poached, the CBI scooped him up and asked him to fight Mexican drug cartels and Russian mafia. Finally. Something he understood again. He accepted and had been scoring high ever since.

He took me to dinner. I wore a dress for him.

He ignored the most obvious topic of Rigsby and work. He skirted the obvious first date questions. Instead, he held out my chair for me, looked me dead in the eye, and said, "I want your three most embarrassing memories before the night's over."

The playful seriousness simmered behind his dark framed glasses and it startled a laugh from me as I sat down. He sat across from me and I smiled and meant it for the first time in weeks. His handsome, bookish features bespoke a calmness, an understanding, and a desire to tease me out of my sadness. He smiled with me.

My mischievous side peeked around the mass of misery currently residing in my head. It made its timid way towards him. "What do I get in return for not one, but _three_ embarrassing memories?"

His thoughtful smile didn't waver. "Well, let's see. You can choose between three compliments, three amusing tales about the OCU, or three embarrassing memories of my own."

I bit my lower lip. I was stunned to realize I was flirting with him by doing it. "What if I want one of each?"

His smile grew bigger, pleased at my willingness to play along. "You play your cards right and you might get all nine. But first you've gotta spill."

I spill. I find myself laughing. I find his quiet, amused attitude very pleasing. We order food. We drink wine.

I'm Grace Van Pelt and I guess this is me. Back in the saddle again.


	6. Chapter 6

Rigsby

* * *

They sat by a window. I sat in my car in the parking lot and watched.

I'm an asshole, I know.

But the second I heard from Jane that Grace had a hot date tonight, the tenuous peace I had with this situation cracked like a falling tree. Jane mentioned Cyrus Decker.

Fuck fuck _fuck_.

Of all the men who might have asked her out in that fucking building, Cy Decker would have been my last choice. For all the wrong reasons. For all the terrifying implications.

Cy isn't an asshole. That's my biggest problem with him right there. He's mid-thirties, if I had to guess, a couple years older than me. He's quiet. He's smart. And he seems like a decent guy. I've talked to him at a couple of functions. He knows his shit. And I've seen him downstairs in the locker room when he's changing to go for a run at lunch. He's a well built dude, six feet tall, light brown hair. He doesn't talk the locker room talk. Other guys are busy talking gym or women, he just listens intently and keeps his mouth shut. The others move out of his way as he passes, giving him a slap on the shoulders. They like him, even though he's not a cowboy like them. Yep, a decent guy. If I were Grace's brother, I'd want her to date him. But the last fucking thing I am is Grace's brother.

So the guy's a bastard. Nothing against him, but he's a bastard.

A bastard with a chance.

I squeezed the steering wheel until my knuckles begged for mercy. This would have been so much easier if one of the many jackoffs had asked her out instead. There's a wide and varied selection of them where we work. What the hell was their problem, anyway? The most beautiful woman in the building was single again. God knows they talked enough trash about scoring with chicks, so where's their follow-through? Why wasn't she sitting there with one of them, trying to look interested in their boring football stories, politely (or not so politely) pushing their hands away from hers, avoiding their smarmy glances at her tits while she silently worked out her escape plan.

I huff in annoyance. Where's a sleazy dickhead when you need one?

I watched them eat dinner together. Grace wore a pretty white summer dress. She was smiling. She seemed surprised when she laughed. Cy looked interested, but polite. He kept his eyes on her face. He didn't attempt to touch her. I can tell this put her at ease.

My gut clenched. She was having a good time. Carefully. Shyly. But still enjoying herself.

I watched them for the entire two hours. At one point, my phone rang and I checked the caller ID.

TIFFANY

I looked back at my baby on her date with another man before looking at the name on my phone as my brow crinkled in confusion.

_Who? _


	7. Chapter 7

Grace

* * *

He brought me home early. He didn't suggest a romantic walk along the river or a drive around town. He didn't ask me out to a late night club or insist we go out for one more drink.

He was a smart man, remember? I'm not Holly Golightly and I never was. And I'm nursing a heart that refuses to beat on account of its strike. I went out on this date because I need to get back out there. Cy knew the score when he asked me out.

Dinner with a man who wasn't Wayne. He understood how huge that was for me.

He walked me to my door. He left me with a kiss on the cheek. I'm relieved. He didn't push for more. "I had a really good time," he said as he pulled back, then cocked his head in thought. "Man, that sounds corny."

Another smile broke on my lips. I can't believe how many he's managed to pry out of me. "No, it doesn't. I had a really good time, too. Thank you."

"I'd like to see you again." Firm. No hesitation.

I was staring at the ground, not trusting myself to look at him. "Um…sure. Okay." I braved a glance his way.

His body language was relaxed. He wasn't hopping from one foot to the other, no hands in his pockets, no stiff shoulders. Cy just stood sedately, making me feel comfortable regardless of how tense I wanted to be. His spectacled, dark brown eyes saw everything, but took me in placidly. Looking at him, some people would misread him as hawkish. But that's not right. Not at all, actually. The man was clearly an owl. Every bit as watchful, but less angular and harsh. More wise. Less aggressive.

I like owls.

As he walked down my steps, he paused and turned back to me. "Can I say something, Grace?" he asked me.

"Of course," I answer, nodding.

"I just want you to know," he paused, and for the first time that night he looked uncertain. "Well… just…just know that Rigsby wasn't the only man who admired you from afar." He looked away at the exact moment I turned bright red. Another thing I'm grateful for. His innate sense of timing. He didn't see my blush and I'm glad.

"Goodnight, Grace." And he was strolling away, in no real hurry, back to his car.

I watched his retreating form for a few seconds before opening my door and closing it behind me. I kicked off my heels, stretching out my toes. I tossed my purse on its usual place on the table before wandering into the kitchen.

I needed some tea.

The teakettle began to shriek when a knock hit my door.


	8. Chapter 8

Rigsby

* * *

I followed them back. I watched him kiss her. I watched him leave. I waited ten minutes.

She opened the door under my trembling fist and her reaction was to gasp in surprise. I used to get radiant smiles when I knocked on this door. Never again. My eyes clap onto hers and don't let go.

Standing in her white dress, she looks so hopelessly angelic. Her eyes can't leave mine. She's amazed that it's me. That makes me even more unstable. It should _always_ be me knocking on her door.

I lean down, but I don't have to go far. My tall, gorgeous woman. My equal. My voice churns low and turbulent.

"So you're just going to go out with somebody else, huh, Grace?" I don't know which of us is more shocked at the hypocrisy my question.

Her mouth falls open slightly and her eyes widen with horror before they harden and her lips press in a rigid line. "Funny, coming from you. Very funny. So where's Tiffany? She at home baking you cookies in her underwear? Or did you bring her with you to stalk me on my date? Did you leave her in the car? Crack a window? Leave the radio on so she thinks someone's still with her?"

Her venom stuns me. My Grace is such a sweetheart. She never speaks ill of anyone.

"I have no fucking interest in talking about Tiffany," I grit through my fury. Over her squeak of protest, I push my way into her place and slam the door behind me. "I can't believe you let that guy touch you."

My possessive ferocity made me reckless. Suddenly I don't care if she knew I'd been watching them, or that Tiffany had done more than her share of touching _me_. None of that mattered. What mattered was that nobody touched my baby. Nobody got to be on the receiving end of her smiles or laughter. Nobody took her out. Nobody.

Because all of it belongs to me.

"And why the hell shouldn't I let him touch me?" She sidestepped Tiffany entirely. "He's kind. He's smart. He's funny." Her eyes blazed with anger. They looked wild and beautiful. She stood right in front of me and poked her finger into my chest. Hard. "And you've clearly moved on! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't be with him."

I grabbed her finger without thinking and yanked her against me. She struggled, but I gripped her harder. I had no reasonable answer to her question, so I threw out the only answer I had. I lowered my face to hers and hissed angrily, "He's not me."

I roughly turned her face to the side, swiping my thumb over the spot where he kissed her. "Only me," I growled furiously, and crashed my lips exactly where his had been, kissing hard, obliterating his gentle touch with my harsh one.

She broke my hold on her and shoved me back.

"Fuck you," she spat savagely, her body trembling with rage.

I thought she was going to shove me again, but when she put her hands on me, she yanked me against her instead. She swiped her thumb over my lips, glaring at me like she wanted to kill me.

"What about here? Has _she _been here?" She didn't wait for my answer and tugged my head down, kissing me so hard that it hurt. She cried out in frustration against my lips before pulling away. Tears began to fall from her eyes.

"Or here?" She ripped my t-shirt away from my throat, exposing where my collarbones met. She looked positively terrified. "Has _she_ been here?" she whispered it, the fight leaving her as sadness and jealousy filled her lovely features. She leaned up and kissed the notch in my throat. The notch that she loved. The notch that I gave to her all those months ago. She moaned against my skin, her tongue sweeping into the groove, tasting me.

I'll leave Tiffany. I'll leave town. I'll leave the CBI, my career, my religion, my family, my air supply, my life. I will. I closed my eyes against the heavenly feel of her lips on my skin and opened my mouth to tell her.

But I was shoved back again.

"Get out. Don't follow me again, Wayne. I mean it."

More tears fell and I moved forward to ease them. She whirled and grabbed her phone, holding it towards me like a weapon. _Cops_, she warned wordlessly. _Get out or I'll call the cops. _

I move towards her again, but her head goes up and she flipped the damn thing open. She meant business.

I had no choice. I always do what my baby tells me to.


	9. Chapter 9

Grace

* * *

I opened my front door, thinking maybe Cy wanted to pin a day for our next date. I looked up and gasped at what awaited me. Black and blue. _My_ black and blue.

The colors loomed in front of me, and my heart—stone still after two whole days—exploded back to life in my chest, forcing me to draw a violent gulp of air. The black nearly hit the top of my doorframe while the blue blazed intensely, warming my face with its heat.

He leaned down to me and spoke. _His voice_. The gravel, _my_ gravel, is back. It's angry and husky and accusatory and I can't help the way my spine pushed me towards it. As pleasant as Cy's voice is, my body propelled itself towards Wayne's deep timbre.

He had spied on my date. He was demanding to know how I could let Cy kiss me. The man who _found someone else_ was furious that I was trying to do the same.

It felt as though the whole world had been yanked out from under me. My beautiful sweetheart was here. My body reactivated and sang with relief. My soul rejoiced in seeing its other half. And my heart continued to pump happily, assuming that all was well again.

My brain shut it all down.

I asked where Tiffany was. He looked flummoxed, like he didn't even know who I was talking about. He pushed passed her and focused on Cy's kiss.

"And why the hell shouldn't I let him touch me?" I asked angrily. _No_, the rest of me shouted at my brain. _No no no no! _But my brain had the helm.

"He's kind. He's smart. He's funny." The rest of me started screaming. Screaming so loud I was certain he could hear it. I shouted it down as I poked him hard in the chest.

"And you've clearly moved on! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't be with him."

He grabbed me and pulled me into the gravity of his arms. My brain wailed in terror while everything else howled with pleasure. _Yes! Home! We're home. Cloves and notes and offers to drive and dimpled chins and black and blue! Home! _

"He's not me," the gravel informed me. And suddenly his lips—his warm, wonderful lips—were annihilating Cy's kiss on my cheek, burning it away with so much passion and demand that I nearly passed out. "Only me," he hissed against me.

_Yes! Only him! We want him! Give him to us or we'll destroy you! We'll never work again! We belong to him! No one else! HIM!_

But my brain is smarter than the rest of me. And my brain is cruel. It whispered a word and stunned everything else into agonized silence.

_Tiffany._

I shoved at him, only to pull him back. "Fuck you." My brain's hideous reminder made me say. His lips, so tempting, are suddenly thick with her presence. "What about here?" I touched them. "Has _she _been here?"

I kissed him. I rebranded him. My lips seared her touch just as surely as Wayne's did Cy's.

"Or here?" Horrified, I pulled his shirt clear from his throat. The notch dipped down prominently between his bones. He swallowed. The notch dipped lower. I took it as a greeting. It knows me. It misses me. It hates Tiffany and I love it all the more for its loyalty. "Has _she_ been here?"

I kissed my property and moaned with miserable glee. His salty skin. So warm. I tasted him ravenously. I filled the notch with my tongue. His littlest weakness. And suddenly I know. Don't ask me how, but Tiffany, whoever she is, has not touched him here. This notch is still mine. I rejoiced as I continued to lave it with every ounce of love and longing that I've stored all these weeks.

_He's hers. Not yours. You gave him to her. _

I cried out and shoved him away again. We're going in circles. And he's with someone new. I refuse to torture myself a moment longer.

"Get out. Don't follow me again, Wayne. I mean it."

My extreme reactions have stunned him. Astonishment roiled across his handsome face. He reached for me. I can't allow that. I'm hanging on by a thread as it is.

I grabbed my phone. He knew what I meant. Desperate, he reached for me again. I flipped it open. I know that if he pushes any harder, I'll fold. I'll let him stay. I'll hold him every second of the night, sobbing my eyes out and begging him to leave her and just stay with me forever.

His eyes collapsed under the weight of his sorrow. He nodded. He turned and left.

My baby. He always did everything I asked.


	10. Chapter 10

Rigsby

* * *

The next day, I take my rage to Cy.

I can't disobey Grace. She controls me completely, my love and my respect for her creating counterweights in my arms and legs. If she tells me to stop holding her, they pull away. If she tells me to hit the road, they walk.

I hate it, but they do as they're told.

Cy? Has no such fuckin' sway with me.

I took a rare trip upstairs and found him at his desk.

"We need to talk." What's the point of preamble?

He looked up from his file, his dark eyes sizing me up from behind his glasses. His studious air made me want to mentally mock him as dorky, but I found that I couldn't. His academic slant looked good on him. Plus I knew he wasn't a slouch when it came to physical fitness. I just hate him so much that I cling to anything that might humble him.

_Dork_, my mind spat childishly.

"Sure. Jenkins is on vacation. Let's take it to his office." His rose from his bullpen desk and led the way.

Once inside the empty room, he closed the door behind us and sat back against the desk. "How can I help you, Rigsby?"

Cute. Very fuckin' cute. "You can help me by staying the hell away from Grace Van Pelt."

He squinted a bit, cocking his head to one side. "Beg pardon?"

"Did I stutter?"

He snorted. "You must have. Because I could have sworn that you just told me to stay away from a woman you have no business making claims over. Did I hear you correctly?"

"Damn right, you did," I growled loudly. "And let me be clear as crystal by telling you that I'll fuckin' kill you if you touch her again. You hear me?"

The threat surprised both of us. I was a junior agent and I'd just threatened a technical superior with bodily harm. Fatal harm. But that didn't stop my shoulders from rolling back, ready to back that threat to the letter.

He appraised me for a very long time before sighing and dropping his eyes. My knuckles popped in rage. I knew pity when I saw it.

At length, he spoke softly.

"I'm going to let that go, man. Mostly because you're hurting, but mostly because if I were you, I'd be pissed off for letting her go, too."

I huffed in disbelief.

"_She_ dumped _me_, Decker. Or didn't you get the office-wide email?" I snort derisively.

He blinked impassively. "You offered to leave for her. Why the fuck are you still here?"

"She wouldn't let me!"

"She was your girlfriend, not your boss. You should have left anyway. Show her you meant it. But you were a chickenshit about it, and now you have to watch her move on with her life."

"I want you to stay away from her." I try to sound menacing, not pleading.

"No." His answer comes back strong, but not angry.

"I mean it, Decker. Just back off."

"I said no. You're not the only guy who thinks Grace is a smart, beautiful woman. We all kept our distance and watched you take your sweet time, but you've had your shot and you blew it. It's Grace's call now, and if she'll allow it, I'll keep seeing her." He paused, taking in my rather desperate appearance before he added. "You behaved like an idiot, sneaking around like that. You had something great and you let a bunch of meaningless shit avalanche until you crushed it. I'm not saying she wasn't right there with you, but _you_ were the senior agent. This is _your _native state. You've got so many contacts it's ridiculous." He paused again, sighing and pushing his glasses up. "You should have protected her better than that."

He turned and walked out of the office, his mild irritation wafting in his wake.


	11. Chapter 11

Grace

The day after my first date with Cy was horrible.

Wayne and I were locked in some kind of weird, painful Mexican standoff for most of the morning. He wouldn't talk to me. I wouldn't talk to him. He pointedly kept his eyes on his desk and I pointedly did the same. But despite our mutual disregard, a clothesline formed between us. One by one, our pieces of invisible dirty laundry jumped on the line, waiting to be aired loud and thoroughly.

Apparently last night wasn't enough. More needed to be said.

The thought made me so tired. My energy for fighting and heartache and pain was draining fast. I just wanted peace. I wanted to lie down and sleep for weeks. I wanted to wake up refreshed, happy, and healed, like coma patients, badly injured in a car accident or something, waking up much later with their bodies completely mended. The body did all the heavy lifting. My brain could just check out.

Yeah, that sounded dynamite.

My phone rings and I answer. "Grace Van Pelt."

"Come bowling with me tonight. My gut tells me you're an alley cat."

Damn Cy. He got another smile out of me. Worse than that. I laughed into the phone and curled into the cradle, hiding my conversation from the bullpen. My eyes dipped shyly. How silly, he can't even see me.

"Sure. Swing by my desk at six?"

"You got it. First one to get a gutter ball buys a round of disgracefully cheap beer." His delivery is so unusual. Deadpan, but obviously jokey. How did he do that?

"Then you'd better bring your wallet."

"Save your brass for the lanes, Grace. I'll see you at six."

He hung up. I did the same.

I turned back into my computer and I caught Wayne staring at me.

Oh, God. His face.

My eyes whipped back to my computer and I quickly painted my features over to hide the shaky smile meant for Cy.

But it was too late.

An entire conversation took place in the split second we looked at each other. Wayne demanded to know who the hell I was talking to. I plainly admitted I was talking to Cy. He'd asked me out again. He'd made me happy, if only for a second. Wayne made it clear he was furious. I broke eye contact, ending the exchange.

He startled me when he rose up sharply from his chair and headed for the elevators. I didn't have to look at him again to know where he was headed.

Where did he _ever_ go when I was seeing someone? I snorted with anger. He sure as hell wasn't bringing the fight to _me_. That would be too easy. No. That big brute was going upstairs.

Part of me wanted to jump up and yank him down by his tie and scream in his face until I fainted from lack of air. He simply wasn't allowed to intimidate the men in my life, no matter how pissed off he felt. Big boys suck it up. Quit poking at it. Just leave it be. But I kept my butt in my seat. I knew Cy and I knew that he could handle himself. If it came to a fight, I knew enough about both men to know that Cy wouldn't throw the first punch. He didn't frustrate as easily. And owls don't initiate beatdowns.

But bears do. Big, angry black bears do.

I took a deep breath and went back to work. Cy would be fine. And Wayne?

I swallowed my longing and reached for that bitter pill. _Tiffany_--stewardess or underwear model or roller waitress or whatever the hell she was--could get off work and tend him if and when the punches start flying.


	12. Chapter 12

Rigsby

You know what? I'm done with this shit.

I came downstairs after my little tête-à-tête with Cy and head straight for another empty room. I yanked my phone out, hit speed dial, and the minute she answered, I broke it off with Tiffany. She cried a little. I apologized up and down. She asked if it was something she did. I begged her to believe that it was all me and she was a lovely woman in every way. I explained that I'm damaged goods, lousy with lovesickness and I was wrong to ever lead her on. She called me a jerk.

Fair enough.

I walked across the bullpen, making sure I caught Grace's eye as I did. I held her gaze until I hit Hightower's office. _You watchin', baby? Cuz here I go._

I stormed in without knocking. Cy was right. Faint heart never won fair lady and this whole farce had gone far enough. My usual deference to authority checked itself at the door.

She was on the phone.

"Hang up, please," I said calmly.

I guess I sounded as different as I felt. She stopped mid-sentence. "I'll call you back," she said after a second. She hung up and looked at me carefully. "Yes, Agent Rigsby?"

I continued to lean over her desk. For once, I use my height to my advantage and loomed on purpose. I wanted her to see me. _Really_ see me.

"Am I valuable here, ma'am?"

She blinked at my question. Her calm demeanor didn't change as she regarded me closely. "Of course, Agent. All of our team members are valuable."

"Stop right there. I'm not here for the CBI credo, Special Agent, I mean me personally. Will I be easily replaced if I leave?"

Still not much of a reaction, however I saw a flicker of understanding in her dark eyes. I think she realized where I was going with this. "Probably not. You're a good fit in the SCU. Agent Lisbon would be thoroughly annoyed if she had to break in a new agent of your caliber. Cho gives you nothing but solid approval in every case. High praise, coming from him."

I nodded. I know this. "Don't forget Jane. Would you not agree that I mesh with Jane's working style and occasional bullshit quite well?"

That won a small smirk from her. "You haven't left because of him, Rigsby. That says a lot, yes."

I nodded again and sat down across from her. I inhaled slowly, peace washing over me. The peace that comes with resolution.

"I'll get to the point, ma'am. I can't work alongside Agent Van Pelt if I can't be with her. I've tried. I'm failing. My work is suffering as a result. And with all due respect, she and I were together for several months before you got here and we worked splendidly as partners and teammates. She was shot and I was firebombed. Neither of us broke rank. We kept our shit together and I'd say those were the best possible tests against our resolve."

I sat back, sighing heavily before I continued. She let me. I was pleased she didn't interrupt.

"The bottom line is this, I'm leaving the SCU unless I'm allowed to be with Grace. I understand it's against the rules. To be honest, I really don't care. I ask for you to do whatever needs doing to get us around it. I'm a damn good agent who happens to fit perfectly in a bizarre unit and I think I'm worth a little headache."

I stood up and dipped my chin respectfully. "I'll be back in the morning with my letter of resignation. You can accept or refuse it then. Thank you for your time, ma'am."

I left her office and strode over to Grace's desk. She looked up at me with wide eyes. "Yes, Rigsby?"

I took her hand and pulled her towards the closest empty office. I sensed unwillingness and defeat at the same time. She didn't want another confrontation. She needn't have worried.

I pulled her in and locked the door, crowding her against a wall. She murmured and pushed at me weakly. I cupped her face and let myself go.

"I've had it, Grace. I'm not going to pretend I don't want you for another fucking second." I leaned down and kissed her softly, but insistently. Her mouth. Oh, God. My whole body coiled and growled with feral yearning. My tongue dipped and tasted the only flavor it ever cared about and thrilled when she kissed me back briefly.

Again, I was pushed away.

"No," she whimpered faintly. "Wayne, I can't do this. _You _can't do this and—,"

"I broke up with Tiffany." I held onto her cheek and whispered roughly. "I'm leaving the unit unless Hightower lets us date. It's done. I'm done. One way or the other, I'm going to be with you."

Her eyes widened at my implacable words. I brushed my lips over hers over and over.

"Come back to me, baby. Don't you dare say no."

"No," she disobeyed instantly. Fire fought half-heartedly under a sheen of tears. "I won't let you leave because of me. I won't let you ruin your career and break up your relationship because of me."

"What fucking career?" I rumbled darkly, gripping her upper arms. "What relationship? Tiffany is a nice girl who's following an impossible act. I went out with her because I was so sick with loneliness that I wanted to die from it. She's sweet. She likes me." I let my hands coast brazenly down her breasts and stomach. She gasped and fell forward into my touch.

"She's nothing."

Grace shook herself and tried to pull away. "This isn't right. You can't just decide to—,"

"_You_ just decided, Grace. _You_ just decided we could be together. _You _just decided we should break up." I was getting angry, but in a good way. She had to see.

"It's my turn now, and I'm deciding that you're mine and you always will be. I'm deciding that tonight I'm coming to your house, carrying you to bed, and _showing _you just how ridiculously perfect we are together."

She fell completely against me, mewling like a kitten. I caught her. Always, I'll catch her. Her eyes glazed over as hope battled against fear.

"But," she shook her head, as if to clear it. "But I'm seeing Cy tonight."

She said it confusedly, like she was merely pointing out a scheduling conflict instead of inciting motive for me to gut the man. I tightened my already steely hold on her, shaking her slightly out of her stupor.

"Go out with Cy, then. Let him down gently. Tell him you're sorry, but I'm what you want." I can't believe my arrogance. But then again, I'm passed all this noise. She wants me. I want her. Cy and Tiff can commiserate over flirtinis for all I care.

I leaned down and sucked her earlobe into my mouth. "Ten o'clock, Grace. Tell Cy, leave the door unlocked, and wait for me."

I let her go, certain in the knowledge that I'm never letting her go again.


	13. Chapter 13

Grace

I floated back out to my desk about five minutes after he left me in that office. I sat down, not feeling my chair, not seeing my computer, not hearing a single sound in the clamor to the office.

_What the fuck just happened?_

Wayne said it was done. That he was done. He gave Hightower an ultimatum of his way or no way. But either way? I was his. Absolutely and irrevocably his. He informed me that we're back together. That he's coming for me. That he was dragging me into bed and reminding me what it was to be his. Because he'd _decided _this and took a stand.

My brain, for once, didn't have an answer to that.

My body, as always, had a very definite one.

_Dump Cy. Go home. Wait for him. Jump on him. Tear every stitch of clothing off and throw yourself into him. Take him! Fuck him! Keep him! _

Yeah. There was no shortage of solid plans where my body was concerned.

But other considerations quickly added more noise to the pitch. Panic simmered low in my belly. What if this didn't work? What if Hightower made him leave? Where would he go? Was the position in San Fran still available? Would he like it if it was? Would he regret this decision inside six months? Would I come home to him from work, afraid to talk about my day because he missed HQ so damn much that it hurt him to hear about? Would I be going home to him period? Would we keep separate places? Did this mean we were jumping into an apartment together?

Oh, God. I feel like I want to throw up.

I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes.

I licked my lips. A tiny moan escaped my throat. I could taste him. My tongue moved hungrily over where his had been. God in Heaven, how was it possible for a man to taste so good? A cross between pure temptation and baked goods. I shook my head at my inability to come up with a better description. That sounded ridiculous. But accurate. Last time I checked, bakeries didn't taste like anything. Neither did temptation. But both things made me crazy when I crossed their path and both things epitomized the taste of my boyfriend.

_My boyfriend_.

My core clenched so tightly that I nearly screamed. The void of my soul and my body are howling in unison, demanding to be filled. Completed. They won't listen to reason. They won't listen to _me_.

Six o'clock blindsided me.

"Knock knock." Two raps on my desk and a kind voice yanked me out of my thoughts. "You ready?" Cy asked, looking down at me with his coat in hand.

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. My gaze shot to Wayne for second. His head was lowered, he was watching us. _It's okay_, he looked. _Take him somewhere and tell him._

I looked back at Cy. Light brown hair. Dark brown eyes. Pretty colors on a pretty man. But gazing at him, I knew. I've known from the moment I tasted Wayne my lips. They're the wrong colors. On the wrong man.

And suddenly my worries and indecision left me like a breeze.

I smiled at him. "Can we go somewhere quiet? Coffee or something? I need to tell you something."

The razor edge of his brain caught my request and sliced it in half, examining its innards and all of its implications. I saw it analyzing through chocolate eyes. Mere seconds, it took. Surprise first. Then disappointment. Then acceptance.

Whoosh. Just like that.

"Sure, Grace. How 'bout the place across the street?" The place he and I first spoke to each other.

I nodded. It was fitting.

I stood up and grabbed my stuff. He started to walk, but I stayed him, looking him in the eye. "Thank you, Cy."

I'm thanking him for already understanding. I'm thanking him for making it easier.

He smiled sadly at me. I squeezed his arm as we walked out.

A good man. A kind heart. Not such a great sense of timing, after all.


	14. Chapter 14

Rigsby

At ten o'clock, she opened the door. My beautiful, overwhelming baby.

I teetered at the immensity of her.

My knees felt shaky, so I fell on them.

Looking up at her, my hard-won resolve that had bolstered me all day emptied out. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't just force my way back into her life. She has to want it. I need to her to need me back. The strength and certainty drained from me. I was raw and scraped out.

So I cowered before her and begged.

"Please." One word described my whole wilted existence.

"Please, Grace. I know I did this without asking. I know you're scared and don't want the responsibility. I know I love you more than you love me. I understand every objection you made against us, but I'm begging you. Come back to me. I need you. I ache for you. I can't—," I broke off and inhaled sharply. The tears were coming. Damn them. I looked down at her feet, hoping to hide them.

"I can't anything. I can't sleep. I can't work. I can't eat. I can't smile. Fuck, baby, I can't even brush my teeth without missing you so damn much that I shattered my damn mirror." I had, too. Smashed it with an electric razor and felt nothing at its loss. I hated the coward who lived in it.

I looked up at her. My angel. My executioner. And I silently pleaded for my soul and my life. She had both. She was both.

Big, watchful eyes filled with tears of their own.

"Wayne…"

I swallowed, nodding.

"Get off your knees and come inside."

"Not until you tell me."

"Wayne? Please. Just come inside."

I unsteadily got to my feet and walked into her home. The door barely clicked into place before I was thrown up against it, Grace burrowing deep into my arms, her face pressed tightly into my chest.

A groan of relief from my lips. A heartrending sob from hers.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she moaned against me, clutching my shoulders, riveting her length against me.

"I'm sorry." Mine intertwined with hers. "Baby, forgive me. I'm so sorry."

"No," she yelped angrily, pulling back to look at me. "I left you. I hurt you and I left you. You had every right. Every right. Tiffany—,"

"I never slept with her, Grace. I couldn't. I kissed her, you were right about that. But it was empty. I just…I just wanted to forget everything. Crush all the pain until I killed it." My hands were everywhere on her, my forehead pressed against hers. "You're in my blood, Grace. You're everywhere I go. I need you or I'll just die slowly." I pull away an inch so I can see her clearly and make her know. "There's nothing of me that isn't you. And I let you go. You walked away and I didn't stop you." I rasped the words harshly, my self-recrimination knowing no bounds. "I didn't fight. You have every right to leave a man who doesn't fight for you."

She buried herself in me again and cried like her heart was breaking all over again. I held her to me. I willed my body to pry itself open and absorb every drop of sadness she pressed into me.

"Grace, please. You're killing me, here. Please tell me. I need to hear you say it."

She sniffed before she pulled back a little, her hands fisted tightly in my shirt. Her cheeks were wet. Her face was red. She made those little hiccupping noises children make when they cry. She was stunning.

When she spoke, her hiccups clipped her words.

"I want you b-back. So much, Wayne. I was stupid. And s-scared. But need you. And I m-miss you. I haven't slept one single night through since you left. I k-keep finding your stuff in my house and I end up crying f-for hours. Working with you is torture. L-living without is…I can't…"

She stopped in frustration at her inability to stop sniffling. I had never heard a more beautiful delivery in my life. She looked so angry, she couldn't find the words she wanted. Finally, she huffed and looked up at me.

"I can't anything, either. Not without you."

For the first time since she left me, I smiled and meant it. "Really?"

She nodded, her breath hitching. "Really. I love you so much it terrifies me."

I inhaled sharply. My God. This whole nightmare was actually over. Just like that. I tempt fate and lean in for a kiss. I taste her lips and moan happily. _Home._

"I need you to make love to me, Grace."

Still teasing my lips with hers, she whispered, "You _are_ love to me, baby."

She took my hand and showed me.


	15. Chapter 15

Grace

I led him to my bed. No. I led him to _our_ bed.

I had to keep stopping on the way, whipping around sharply and burying my face into him. I inhaled deeply each time. The scent of him—the dark, clean, masculine scent of him—drugged me just as surely as if I were snorting coke. As impatient as he was to get to my room, he let me. I think he needed the reassurance too, because each time I put my nose to his shirt, he burrowed into my hair and pulled a deep breath. I heard him murmur, "Strawberries."

I giggled.

We froze at the sound before grinning like fools at each other.

All of our clothes had melted off by the time we reached our bed. His hands were all over me, like he couldn't decide what he wanted to touch first.

I, however, knew exactly what I wanted first.

His arms went around my back as I leaned up and kissed the notch in his throat. I moaned loudly, pressing my breasts into the hardness of his chest, running my fingers through his black hair and reacquainting myself with my beautiful little possession. He tilted his head back and uttered a throaty snarl.

"It missed you so much," he spoke for the notch.

I nibbled at the tendons surrounding it. "I despised her for having it," I admitted about Tiffany.

His head fell back to me and he shook his head vehemently. "She didn't, baby. Not once." He kissed me desperately, shaking his head slightly the whole time. "I wouldn't let her touch me there."

He took my fingers in his, sliding them down his right thigh. He led them to a small, circular burn. A lit cigarette. His father's handiwork. "Or here. I only let _you_ here."

Tears threatened to overwhelm me again as he guided my fingers behind his ear to a long indentation. One that doesn't occur on the human skull naturally. One that a little boy acquired when his daddy struck him with a socket wrench. "Or here. Baby, you're the only one allowed here."

"I'm so selfish," I whispered, caressing his head. "I want these. I wanted to kill her for touching them."

His fingers rubbed over mine. "She didn't. They're yours. Everything's yours."

I sat him down on the bed and knelt between his legs, massaging his cigarette burn before I lowered my lips to his leg and kissed it softly. "I don't ever want you to be in pain like this." I murmured into his scar.

I caught him unawares when I swooped forward and took his pulsing erection into my mouth. He choked with surprise, his abs flexing under the stimulus.

"Call me _baby_," I ordered the gravel in him, tonguing his slit before sucking him deep.

"Baby," the gravelly voice obeyed instantly. "Oh, my sweet baby."

I looked up at him. He was leaning back on his hands, his expression was one of wonder and lust. "Say _fuck_."

"Fuck!" he barked, his head dropping back again as his hips surged up towards my mouth. "Oh fuck, baby."

I moaned hotly around him. My gravel was back. My rough, exhilarating ride was back. No more paved professionalism. Just the heavy, harsh timbre of my lover while deep in my thrall as well as my mouth.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you so fucking much," he growled, watching me as I pulled and sucked him harder. "Christ, I can't take how much I love you."

He yanked me up against him, crashing his mouth into mine and rolling me onto the bed with him. We fought and twisted against each other, our legs wrapping, our arms clenching, our lips devouring. He got the upper hand, pinning me down and pulling my arms up over my head. My fingers encountered the metal bars of my headboard and he made them grab ahold.

"Stay," he ordered, before skimming my body with his fingers. He lowered his head and sucked my nipple into his mouth just as his fingers slipped between my wet folds. My grip on the bars tightened.

"Oh, my God," I moaned loudly. My head snapped back into my pillows. My body arched tight as a crossbow.

"Call _me_ baby," he snarled against my breast.

"Baby," I whispered breathlessly. "Wayne, _my_ baby."

"Say _fuck_, Grace."

"Fuck!" I keened, riding his fingers. "Oh, God, fuck me, please!"

He was a blur of motion and suddenly he was above me. On me. Inside of me.

We screamed with pleasure as he plunged deep.

"Tell me you fuckin' love me!" he hissed, pounding into me with desperate, unmeasured strokes.

"I _love _you!" I shrieked it. It was the only response for the violent, insanely pleasurable sparks shooting off in my body. It had been weeks. Nearly a month. I hadn't had anyone and I certainly hadn't had anyone big and uninhibited. The tightness of my pussy had barely made room for him and the resulting ecstasy made me scream for him once again. "God, I love you, Wayne. So much. So so much. Don't stop. Please!" My headboard collided with the wall again and again, despite my hold on it. "Don't you ever stop, baby. _Yes_!"

It _had _been weeks, so it didn't take long. My sex-starved body came so hard that I screamed like I was in terrible pain. My pussy clasped hard over his raging cock and locked him in, milking him for everything he was worth.

Wayne never could take it when I came for him that violently. He just couldn't believe my body wanted his so badly that it nearly broke his hips trying to drain him. He adored it. And it forced his own release. His hips riveted to mine and he roared.

Damn, do I love that sound.

He spilled into me, trembling and jolting as his body gave mine everything it asked for. The room filled with the sound of our pants. He collapsed onto me. Black filled the corner of my eye as his head dropped to my shoulder.

I nosed into his cheek, silently asking him to look up. When he did, I sighed happily.

"Blue." I caressed his temple, gazing into his eyes.

He blinked and smiled tightly. He knew I was comparing his color to another man's. The only thing that made him smile was the fact that I was obviously overjoyed that they weren't brown.

"Blue's good?" he caressed my temple as well, wanting to hear my answer out loud.

I wrapped my arms around his back and pulled all of his weight onto me. I pulled his head back onto my shoulder and whispered the truth.

"Blue is everything."


	16. Chapter 16

Rigsby

I woke up with Grace wrapped around me like a sexy little tortilla. At some point in the night, I'd stupidly turned on my side, away from her. As I slowly opened my eyes, I felt a slim little arm draped over my middle and a long, slender thigh slung over mine. Between my shoulder blades, I felt the wonderful heat of her cheek and the deep, even puffs of her breath. Carefully, I turned onto my back. Effortlessly, her sleeping form resettled onto my chest.

I lay wide awake, just absorbing the sensation of her holding me again.

I tried not to think of the countless nights I'd nearly gone mad with the memory of feeling her skin to skin like this. Instead, I focused on how wonderful it was going to be waking up like this for the rest of my life. The thought must have been made of helium. It filled my head and almost made it float away.

Grace and the rest of my life.

And you know what? What was going to fill the time when I wasn't lying naked with Grace didn't even enter my mind. Hightower? The CBI? Living like an unemployed bum?

I didn't consider any of it. There wasn't room, to be honest. I was filled to capacity. Love and happiness had taken up every inch.

I chuckled softly. The sound and rippling movement woke up her. She lifted her head and her brow drew in confusion as she sleepily looked at her fleshy pillow.

"Baby?" she asked confusedly.

I smiled at her. Baby. Not Rigsby or even Wayne. Baby. "Morning, sweetheart. How did you sleep?"

She yawned widely and dropped back down. It shot me to the moon. There was no tenseness or awkwardness. Thank Christ.

"Good," she mumbled. "Still sleepy."

"We gotta get up soon. I have to go in and find out if I still have a job."

This woke her up. Her head lifted quickly, her eyes big as quarters. "Oh, shit. You're right." She blinked rapidly, her hands closing over my shoulders. "Oh God, what are we going to do?"

"Well," I sighed dramatically. "I can't speak for you, but I'm going to have a shower and use whoever-the-hell's soap I want. Then? I'm going in and discovering my fate. Then? If she decides to 86 me, I'm going to start making some calls."

I paused and ran my hands over her suggestively. "Unless I get to be a kept man."

She was startled into laughter. "Forget it. I can barely afford Cosmo every month, let alone a free loader."

A moment ticked and her smile dropped a notch. I caught her face in my hands, running my thumbs over her cheeks. "This is going to work, Grace. I'll find something else. Something I like. Something I'm good at. There's state, feds, local, specialists, everything. I'll be happy."

I kissed her gently.

"I just need you. That's all."

Her smile regained its wattage. "Then we'd better get up."

We did so. We went into work. Together. Fuck the security cameras. I patted her ass in the elevator. That won me a glare from her.

I walked straight into Hightower's office. I didn't even take my coat off. She looked up as I entered and gestured to a chair. "Please."

I sat.

We regarded each other.

Finally, she spoke. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that, Rigsby?"

Any other day, I'd hang my head without even asking why. Today, I don't even blink. "I apologize."

"I don't like ultimatums, Agent."

"Of course not, ma'am."

"I don't like subordinates who defy the rules and feel they're somehow exempt."

"I understand."

"And I sure as hell don't like having to go upstairs and ask how difficult it would be to change policy."

"I…pardon?"

"Pardon, my ass," she snorted caustically. "I don't like thinking about how many damn agents I'd have to go through before I found another one with an arson specialization and a knack for putting up with an asshole consultant, AND!" she poked her finger at me, "I don't ever want to explain to MY superiors ever again about how I think you're worth rewriting a rule for."

I blinked. It was all I'd trust myself to do. "Ma'am?"

"New rule," she clipped stoically, flipping a file open in preparation to go back to work. "Unit members who wish to become romantically involved may do so with the authorization of their immediate superior, decided on a case by case basis, as and when the circumstance arises."

It was a machine gun of AdminSpeak. I heard the words and I understood them, but I was too shocked to trust my interpretation of them. Stupid with hope, I said nothing.

She huffed with annoyance. "Get the hell out of my office and go ask Lisbon. This is her train wreck now."

I bolted without so much as a 'thank you'.

Gotta find Lisbon.


	17. Chapter 17

Grace

I sat in limbo trying like hell to watch my computer and not Hightower's door. Few things have torn at my patience like that moment. He was in there now, hearing our future being dictated to him. I wasn't really sure what to expect in terms of time. Would it take a minute? An hour? Would she explain in annoyingly unwanted detail about why he can't stay? Would he rail against her decision, getting right in her face and gesticulating until she left for lunch?

Didn't seem likely. Another reason to fidget in my seat.

So when he burst out of her office with the wild expression of an escaped lunatic, I'll admit that it startled me.

He caught my eye and nearly plowed straight into my chair. "Where's Lisbon?" the crazy man asked me.

"Ummm…office?" I didn't even get a chance to ask what Hightower had said.

He tugged me out of my chair and pulled me with him towards the boss's office. "You won't believe this." That was all I got before we propelled into the glass cube, standing in front of Lisbon.

"Boss?" Rigsby said excitedly.

Lisbon didn't look up from her computer.

"_Boss_?"

She slowly turned towards us. I can see her email is open. Whatever she'd been reading? Must have been important. She looked so serious and wide-eyed that I instantly felt our barging in there was a huge mistake. I didn't even know the plan. And I don't barge as a rule, so this was starting to look like an ill-advised course of action.

She was looking at Wayne. _Really _looking at him.

What in the hell was going on?

"You've been to see Hightower?" she asked finally.

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"And she told you about this?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She leaned forward, tossing her hands in mock nonchalance. "So what? Now I'm just supposed to give you an answer right here and now?"

He looked at me, grinning while trying to strangle it, before looking back at her. "Please, Lisbon. You know us. You know we can make this work. And it's not breaking a rule or even bending one! And Grace and I will follow your original instructions to the letter. No kissing in the office, no soulful looks, nothing." He planted his hands on her desk, leaning towards her. "Pleeeaase, boss. I need her."

I gasped sharply as his naked request. I looked between them with huge eyes, standing perfectly still and keeping my mouth shut. Something important had just happened between when Wayne had entered Hightower's office and now, but I had no idea what to make of it.

Why were we asking Lisbon for permission to date? Why was it no longer breaking the rules? Why did Lisbon look so irritated by all this business?

But there was such a heavy feeling of expectation in the air, I was afraid my asking everyone to start over would wreck the delicate advantage that Wayne had, whatever it was.

I stayed silent as my colleagues stared at each other.

Finally, a pouty, put-upon Lisbon spoke. "Fine. Whatever. Just make sure I don't have to see it."

Ooooookay. Was that a good thing?

Wayne turned on me, a smile the likes of which I'd never seen combusted on his lips. He grabbed me. He whirled me in the tiny space. And to my shocked horror, he kissed me. In front of Lisbon! In her see-through office! With thirty people on the other side of it!

I fought it, but he held me harder. Kissed me harder. I was having a panic attack and I couldn't even free my lips so that I could hyperventilate properly.

"Hey!" Lisbon barked. "What did I just say? Get out of here and knock that crap off! Some of us have low mush thresholds."

He broke our kiss, but didn't let me go. He turned to Lisbon and grinned. "Thank you, boss. You're the greatest."

"Beat it!"

Her order had us scurrying out of her office and back into our bullpen. "What just happened? Why are we making out in front of the boss?" I hiss frantically. I keeled back slightly. "Oh, my God. They've sacked you and you've gone crazy. That's it, isn't it?"

His manic joy paired oddly with his shaking head. "Way off, baby. Waaaay off. Hightower went upstairs and requested the rules be changed in light of how awesome I am. Apparently," he checked his ego quickly. "So the new rules state that our immediate boss can authorize us to date, if we ask. We've asked. She said yes."

My mouth must have been hanging open because he chucked my chin, closing it. "I can stay. And we can be together." His expression was just so blindingly happy. "So what do you think?"

"I…" I stutter. "So we can just…they're not going to…you can…we won't get…"

I can tell he loved my incomprehension. Nodding with each sentence I didn't finish, he chuckled and said, "Exactly, baby. Exactly."


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:**

Oh, my God! Since starting this story eight days ago, my hit counter never went below 900. You guys are so freakin' awesome! Much love to reviewers and lurkers alike. Thanks so much for taking the time to tell me what you thought, reviewers. I really appreciate every single one. And I think we all enjoyed using it as a forum to vent our communal grief. Lurkers? I love your mystery.

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